Private Parties
by Silver Bones in a Green Sauce
Summary: Sequel to Usually Normal. The boys have a party. Things get a little bit gay.


Craig Tucker, despite wanting to be "normal," is not, for the most part, a fan of parties. The music is usually shit, the alcohol is cheap, the people are irritating. He could never understand the appeal of being with a large crowd of intoxicated idiots. It's easier to hook up at parties, but he had never been driven by hormones, unlike most of his peers. There was always beer and food, but if he wanted that, he could just go into his own kitchen. As for the music? Lady GaGa just didn't appeal to him. No, going to a party wouldn't usually be on Craig's list of things to do—the key word being "usually."

Token Black, one of his best friends, was having a party. Normally, every kid in South Park would be crowding the front door, trying to squeeze in; Token was, after all, rich, and who would pass up an opportunity to party at a rich kid's house? The party in question was, however, _private _though, so only a handful of people were attending: Token, obviously, Clyde Donovan, Tweek Tweak, Phillip Pirrup, and Craig Tucker, the ringleader of the group. Calling it a private party made it sound faggy or like a cult, but it was just a group of boys sitting around, listening to non-shitty music, and drinking beer that didn't taste like piss. Clyde had tried to invite other students—namely Bebe Stevens, who would have blabbed about the party to the whole student body before the week was over—but Token, not wanting his parents to come back to a huge mess (they were away on a skiing trip or something that Craig couldn't bother to remember), had refused him. Clyde had been pissy about it—he had had a crush on Stevens for as long as Craig could remember—but knowing that Token would get pissed off at him, he decided to let it go after whining about it for an hour or so.

"What a splendid party!"

Splendid. Without looking up from the magazine that he was holding—something over video games—Craig knew which member of his gang had spoken; only Pip (Phillip), the British edition to his crew, would ever say something like _splendid_. The boy spoke more properly than anyone Craig had ever met, including his teachers. It had taken some getting used to—Clyde, the member most hostile to the boy, was still adjusting to it—but Craig usually didn't think anything of it; Pip had, after all, been hanging out with them for about four weeks.

"I've never been to an American party before. Will there be a ferris wheel?"

The kid apparently remembered the parties that Eric Cartman would throw when they were little. Craig could remember being on the ferris wheel, up on top, looking down at the blond boy, who was outside of the party, his face pressed up against the fence. He could remember thinking that the kid was a loser who would never be invited to anything. Life was really ironic at times; Craig had been the one to tell Pip that he was invited to Token's party.

"Ack! What if there is? What if I fall off? I'd break every bone in my body! GAH!"

The two blonds belonging to the group—Pip being one, the other one being Tweek—were definitly the strangest members. Like he had grown accustomed to Pip's dialect, Craig had also grown used to Tweek's paranoia. He didn't pay the least bit of attention to the background noise as he read—Pip asking questions, Clyde calling him stupid for them (because Clyde _really _had the right to call anyone stupid), Token trying to answer them patiently, and Tweek freaking out over them. The only difference between their little party and what they did when they normally hung out was that they were drinking.

Time passed slowly. Music—The Smiths, Metallica, The Used, ACDC, The Offspring, soft jazz (they were a varied group)—filled the room. Alcohol was passed around and, after being coaxed into it by Token and Pip (and being snapped at by Clyde), Tweek even had some. Bowls of different types of chips and boxes of pizza were laying around on the floor of Token's bedroom, and the boys were sprawled out or standing in different sections of the room: Token and Pip were relaxed on the bed, the dark-skinned boy explaining something about music to the blond one, Clyde was flipping through Token's CDs, Tweek was twitching in one corner of the room (he was pulling on his hair and muttering to himself about something that Craig couldn't hear, but the raven haired boy wasn't concerned; he had witnessed the sight enough times to know that pretty soon, they would all know what Tweek had on his mind—he tended to scream), and, having sat the magazine down on his lap, Craig was sitting on a beanbag and looking around.

"This is boring."

That probably wasn't the best thing to say in front of your friend when it was his party, but Craig didn't give a fuck; Token looked just as bored as he felt.

He caught everyone's attention, even Twitchy Tweek, and they were all looking at him. He looked at each of them, making sure to make eye contact (which was hard considering one of them was almost always constantly moving), silently asking them if they had any ideas. It was Clyde he stopped on, and it was Clyde who provided the new source of entertainment.

"I have an idea."

CT/PP/TB/CD/TT

Because getting high with a group of friends at a party was considered normal, Craig went along with it without much thought; they had, after all, done it before. Pip, the only member of their group who hadn't gotten high before, quickly agreed to try it when he was assured that it would make him fit in more. It was Clyde's pot, so he had no issues with smoking it, and Token, like Craig, had gotten stoned a time or two before. It was Tweek, as usual, that needed convincing.

"No! Gah!"

This went on for several more minutes before Craig, passing his toleration point, used his trump card; he told the boy that he was being a loser and that if he didn't smoke a joint already, he'd be out of the group. It was bullshit, of course; as gay as it sounded, he had grown attached to the blond over the years, and he had put up with too many fits over the course of their friendship to let a small one over pot irritate him to the point of getting rid of Tweek. Still, Tweek didn't realize he was irreplaceable, and Craig's trump card worked like a charm—even if it irritated Token and gave Clyde false hope (the brunet wasn't too fond of either of the group's blonds), Tweek finally gave in, giving Craig what he wanted.

CT/PP/TB/CD/TT

Pip was sprawled out on the floor. His hair was a mess and his hat had been thrown to a corner of the room, though he couldn't remember _why_. He was chatting idly, laughing softly as he did so. He was happy, as he often was around his group of friends. His shirt was raising up; his stomach would have been exposed to the other boys had Tweek's head not been resting on it. The wild mane of yellow hair was tickling his stomach, and even if Pip hadn't been laughing because he was intoxicated, the soft strands would have caused him to do so; Tweek was still twitching, though the action had been cut down immensely, and it was causing his hair to move about Pip's stomach in a way that was causing the British boy to squirm too. Token was propped up against one of the legs of his bed, his feet resting on Pip's crotch. His fingers, like Pip's, were absentmindedly running through Tweek's mess of hair. They reminded Craig of Legos; they were all touching in one way or the other. They were connected.

"They look like worms. Fag worms."

They did look gay, but Craig couldn't bring himself to care. They looked happy and relaxed. More than anything, they looked _calm_, something that neither of the blonds—Pip often got overexcited—were known for. They also looked _inviting_; not caring if Clyde ripped on him, he pulled his hat off, letting his dark hair fall over his eyes, tossed it to the corner with Pip's, and laid down beside the pile of bodies on the floor. His head was resting against Pip's leg, his body beside Tweek's, Token's free hand moved to his hair, and he was comfortable. He would worry about how he looked later.

"Whatever."

They stayed like this, relaxing in their drug haze, for a few minutes before a sigh from Clyde could be heard. Craig's eyes had slipped closed, but he didn't need his sight to know what was about to happen—and sure enough, he was right. Clyde was pulling off his shoes—Craig could hear something bang against the wall, somewhere near where his and Pip's hats would be—and soon, there was another body touching his. Clyde's head was resting on his knee and Craig's fingers began to tug on brown strands of hair.

"Fags."

Maybe private parties _were _a little bit gay.

CT/PP/TB/CD/TT

The next time that Token's parents were out of town, the boy decided that it was time to throw another party. The same invitations were sent out, and similar reactions occurred; _"Great. Can I invite people?" A nod. "Gah! Not again!" "Oh, what a jolly good idea! Will it be the same as last time?" _It _was_ similar to the previous party; again, there was booze and, after they all had gotten a bit tipsy (because he refused to get drunk again—Tweek believed that the head ache the morning after could have made him explode—Clyde and Craig slipped the alcohol into Tweek's thermos) Clyde shared more drugs with the group.

After so long, Craig couldn't remember what his friend had given them. It didn't matter though; he felt good—better than he had in days—and his boys seemed to share the feeling. Clyde was trying to teach Pip the proper way to throw a football—it wasn't a dodge ball, the brunet kept telling him—while Token attempted to teach Tweek how to dance. They all looked like fags, if you asked him. Clyde was standing beside Pip, which was innocent enough, but his hands were on Pip's wrist in some fail attempt to show the boy how to throw; it didn't look like much, but Clyde was homophobic, and Craig would make sure to mention that the jock had been holding onto a boy's wrist whenever they sobered up. Token, on the other hand, stole the fag cake; he was standing behind Tweek, who was more jittery than usual, with his hands on the blonde's slim hips. If Craig didn't know that the dark skinned boy was trying to teach the kid how to dance, he would think that they were trying to drunkenly fuck. Craig was the only one who looked straight; it didn't occur to him that staring at four boys and thinking about how gay _they _are might come across as a little gay.

CT/PP/TB/CD/TT

It was when Clyde stumbled into Mr. and Mrs. Black's room on his way back from the bathroom that things got gayer than what Craig was prepared to handle—he did though thanks to the drugs. If he hadn't been intoxicated, he wouldn't have been able to deal with what was happening. Even high, it was irritating the hell out of him.

"He looks like a girl."

Pip was sitting on the bed in front of them, all four of the other boys staring at him as if he was on display. His already feminine hair was up in a messy ponytail, yellow strands falling loose and framing his face. His head was tilted to the side, though his eyes were focused on the boys. His eyelids were colored light blue—a blue just a shade lighter than the eye liner that Token had used on the blond. Pip's cheeks were painted with a light pink blush; the lipstick that he was using was just a tad bit darker. The petite boy had on a light pink tank top, along with a plaid pink and white skirt. His legs were crossed at the knees, and running up to them was a pair of white socks; he had always fancied the way that knee-high socks looked, though he had never had a chance to wear them before. All in all, Pip looked pretty. The blue eyeliner and eyeshadow would normally look out of place with the outfit, but it made Pip's eyes pop out more—and gorgeous eyes they were. They were blue, a much lighter blue than Craig's own eyes—eyes that were looking the British boy over. He really _did _look like a girl.

"He's way prettier than Butters! We should show him off to those guys!"

Ah, group rivalry. It was enough to take Craig's mind off of how stupid they were acting; getting Mrs. Black's make up and old clothes out of her room wasn't exactly Craig's idea of fun. He had to admit though, Pip _did_ look good, and if it would give them a chance to show up the Cartman gang...

"Maybe."

No one was listening to him though. Token and Clyde had already moved on to dressing Tweek up.

Fags. Private parties were definitely gay.


End file.
